


Not Interested

by haliibug



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Humor, One Shot Collection, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haliibug/pseuds/haliibug
Summary: You joined AVALANCHE because you've seen, firsthand, the awful things Shinra gets up to behind the scenes.But the cold mercenary that follows?You didn't sign up to deal with him.
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Reader, Cloud Strife/You, Rufus Shinra/Reader
Comments: 41
Kudos: 380





	1. Fusillade

**Author's Note:**

> Caught in crossfire, you find yourself back-to-back with the newest member of AVALANCHE. 
> 
> [Pre-Reactor 5 Explosion]

“Have you made contact with Barrett and the others yet?”

Your inquiry, muttered through gritted teeth and the lowest tones your voice could go, would have usually fallen on the deaf ears of your partners, lost beneath the waves of consistent, rapid fusillade of bullets exchanged between you and the Shinra lackeys. You and your backup are back-to-back, huddled together like Icicle Inn neighbors behind a rusted slab of debris, and the circular edge of your shield--stolen from a Shinra warehouse in Sector 3. 

It’s a good thing that your new, unwilling partner is one Cloud Strife, blonde mercenary for hire, and, quite possibly most importantly, ex-SOLDIER. The mako that runs through his bloodstream--and makes his baby blues all the brighter--enhances his senses; he hears you as clear as day, and quirks a brow. 

Tifa had warned you about his uninterested, condescending nature and overall bad behavior, in her own motherly, caring way, long before you had even met him; the slightest change in his cold, neutral expression was warning enough for you to realize that he was most likely about to hit you with some sarcastic, eye-roll inducing one-liner that would simultaneously belittle and disrespect you. 

“PHS’s broken,” He replies to you, and you don’t have enough mako in your veins to hear him as clearly as he did you--you have to strain and shift your head away from the gunfire to better hear him. “You knocked it outta my hand when you threw your trash lid at a sentry.” 

You snatch a pistol--a gift from Biggs--out of a velcro holster strapped to your thigh and raise it slightly above the curve of your _‘trash lid,’_. Blindly, you fire a couple of rounds, and hope to the gods above that at least one can manage to hit something that isn’t the wall.

Cloud, meanwhile, switches his grip on his giant sword to fish through his pockets; for materia, you’d wager. 

“I wouldn’t have had to throw it at all if you had been paying attention! That damn thing was going to blow your spiky head off.” You fire two more rounds and whistle a fanfare when you hear a distinct cry of pain.

“I _heard_ it come from the floor--I was going to _dodge_.” He lodges a green sphere to the inside of his iron bangle and balls his fist as sparks begin to crackle along his forearm. After snatching a quick peek over your shield, he strikes the air like he’s punching an invisible enemy, and you hear the telltale sounds of a Thundara spell electrocuting one of the soldiers.

There’s a market decrease on artillery rounds after that, and you prepare to lower your shield and charge in. 

“Like _hell_ you were-!” A dull bang, a sharp whistle of a bullet flying at mach speed--and suddenly there’s a red-hot flare of pain blossoming in your shoulder. 

This time, you really _do_ drop the shield, doubling over on your knees to clutch at the oozing hole in your arm. The gun in your hand skids across the steel flooring of the warehouse, sliding to a halt just beyond your reach. One of the soldiers must have seen it happen--the same bastard who managed to land one on you, do doubt--and you hear him yell at you, taunt you, even, as your last line of long-range defense escapes you.

All that’s left is Cloud’s lightning materia, and neither of you have an ether handy to replenish him when he runs out of energy. 

Speaking of who; you twist your head around to remind him of just that, only to feel the warmth he provided against your back abruptly chill you as he leapt to action right before your eyes.

You’re injured, the stolen shield limp in your hand, and the pistol is halfway across the floor; all you can do now is just sit back and watch the man work from the safety of your cover.

And work he most definitely does; the remaining troops are decimated in _seconds_. 

You see glowing green swirls of light in the corners of your eyes--evidence that the soldiers have returned to the Planet--and you find the energy to scoff, envious of his proficiency.

He’s been with AVALANCHE, what, a couple of _days_? And already, he’s proven to be more useful than you. 

You grip your shoulder tighter, seething. 

Heavy black boots pound against the floor until they’re parallel to your own. Cloud crouches, his knees brushing yours, and he reaches out to brace a warm palm against your back, right between your shoulder blades. 

“That was careless,” He mutters irritably, urging you to sit on your butt and lean against the rubble. You very nearly snap at him, but he’s quick to continue, “The bullet run through? Or is it stuck in there?” 

You know better than to think that he’s asking because he _cares_ ; it’s more likely he’s making sure you won’t be a liability when the two of you have to eventually find an escape route back to Seventh Heaven. 

You hiss as you loosen your grip and lift your hand to glance at the back of your shoulder. You find the dark exit hole and quickly replace your hand as more red gushes out to stain your shirt. 

“It’s a through-and-through,” You assure him. “I won’t slow you down, though, promise. I know that’s your top priority.”

His blonde brows furrow at the ill-hidden bitterness in your tone, creasing his forehead. You feel his gloved hand twitch where it’s pressed against your back, and he seems to struggle to respond. 

“That’s not why I asked.” He finally says, quietly. 

You groan and lean forward, shouldering past his muscled frame to reach for your pistol. It’s just a little bit beyond your feet, and you’re sure you must look like a fool, trying to stretch past your toes, but, luckily, Cloud spares you any teasing comment and reaches for the gun himself, meeting you halfway to press the grip to your open palm. He’s even gracious enough to help you up to your feet. 

It’s only when your vision stabilizes and you’ve regained your center of gravity that he takes his hand off of your back, and moves a respectful amount of distance away from you. But his eyes still watch you, warily. Probably to make sure you don’t keel over. 

“Let’s get you back to Tifa; I know she’s got a healing materia stored in her glove.” He leans in to you a bit, raises one of his brows again. It’s a bit different from the expression he gave you back when the soldiers were still firing at you. “You good to get moving?”

You swallow, and nod. Tifa’s gentle touch sounded heavenly right about now--pun entirely intended.

“Yeah. Lead the way, soldier-boy.” 

At the use of Barrett’s demeaning little nickname for him, he straightens his spine and rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re able to joke around like that, then you’re probably fine. Don’t expect me to slow down for you.”

True to his word, he turns on his heel and makes a run for the exit door. You huff out a laugh and follow him, hot on his tail. The shield is heavier now that your shoulder has a hole in it, but you’re definitely not letting him know that.

“Now that sounds more like Cloud Strife I know! Jessie and Wedge would never believe me if I told them that you cared that I got shot in action.”

He glares at you over his shoulder, mid-run. 

“I never said that I cared at all.”

“Oh yeah? You’re real touchy-feely for someone who apparently doesn’t, Strife.”

“Shut up.” 


	2. Buckshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You needed a break from your teammates.
> 
> You should have known to expect the mercenary waiting alone in Seventh Heaven.
> 
> [Post-Reactor 1 Explosion]

Playing an active part in a group of eco-terrorists hellbent on saving the planet wasn’t always as exciting and as action-packed as the average Midgar slum dweller would believe. 

Whether in the safety of the little shack you’ve come to call your home, or under the warm roof of Seventh Heaven; nearly every single day spent in between bombing missions, warehouse robberies, and news channel hijackings were often peaceful and quiet. 

_(As quiet as any place could be, what with Barret Wallace causing a great racket wherever he went.)_

Those days were also times when every member of AVALANCHE could get along swimmingly; every plan agreed on unanimously, every role taken light-heartedly, all the spoils divided evenly…

“Dammit, Biggs! Pull your head outta your ass and look at the bigger picture!”

Today, as it would seem, was not going to be one of those days.

You heaved a long-suffering sigh and raised your hands to press the tips of your fingers deep into each of your temples, eyes falling shut. Your forehead was beginning to hurt from how long your brow had been creased. 

The bombing of Reactor 1 had been a success, albeit one that came at a great cost. Jessie had insisted to all of you, before and after the mission’s completion, that she followed the bomb’s instruction’s down to the smallest of details. Unfortunately for her--despite being a former play actress--she was talkative, and exceptionally easy to read. You and the others had a feeling, deep down, that she used a much more powerful explosive solution than what the recipe initially called for. 

Now, in the aftermath, plenty of people above and below the plate were either dead, dying, or homeless. 

That knowledge had formed a heavy pit in your gut, and none of Barret’s crude assurances could relieve the weight of it. 

“I am looking at the bigger picture! But fact is--we’re broke as shit, and we don’t have even half enough of what we owe soldier-boy upstairs.” 

At some point, AVALANCHE’s discussion had taken a sharp turn from the great casualties of the mission, to the even greater expenses of it. 

In particular; Cloud Strife, and the substantial price tag that came with his services. 

Barret abruptly snarls like a wild animal, “I’ll bet he’s trying to rob us! He ain’t nothing more than a Shinra lapdog; _once a mutt, always a mutt_ , is what I say!” 

You let go of your temples to cross your arms. You respected Barret, honestly, you did, but you found that, ever since Cloud joined the group, his anti-Shinra spiels and benevolent speeches had significantly increased in frequency, and had even gone from inspiring to downright droning. 

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder, gentle and warm, even through layers of fabric and fingerless gloves. 

You turn your head and find Tifa close by your side. Her thumb rubs little circles into your shoulder--a comforting gesture that was much needed on your part. You can already feel your migraine start to ebb a bit, soothed by just her presence. 

She smiles, and it’s like watching a brilliant flower bloom in the sunlight. 

“You’ve been real quiet since we came down here. Are you feeling alright?” Her voice is calm in juxtaposition to the overwhelming squabbles that engulf the hideout. 

You feel no shame when you tell her the truth. 

A brief huff of laughter escapes her, and she gives an apologetic pat to your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you head upstairs and take a break? Make a drink, too, while you’re at it. This is...probably going to last a while.” She braces her palm against the planes of your back, and gently nudges you in the direction of the pinball machine. 

You sigh and raise a hand to rub the back of your neck. “Yeah. Thanks a bunch, Tifa.” 

She winks, and you make your escape. 

You’re barely given a second look when you slap the button on the system and feel the pressure plate below your feet come to life with a mechanical whirring noise, before slowly lifting you upward to Seventh Heaven. A surprisingly large part of you is grateful for the lack of reaction turned your way--when you first joined up with Barret, you would have endured the headaches and all of the yelling for hours on end, done whatever you could as the rookie to try and prove yourself to the group. 

Now that you’ve known them for a long while, though? You’ve learned that you didn’t have to deal with all that business _one hundred percent_ of the time. 

You’re so lost in thought by the time the arcade reaches Seventh Heaven’s restaurant floor that you barely acknowledge the patron lurking near the double-door entrance of the bar. By the time you do, you’re pouring cola over ice and whiskey, and you very nearly spill the sugary mess all over the wooden counter when you spot the head of spiky blonde hair. 

Cloud Strife; the man, the myth, the legend, is inside Tifa’s bar, nursing one of her _Cosmo_ _Canyon_ specials in a gloved hand. He is also staring at the dart leaderboard poster nailed into the wall with such intensity, you genuinely wonder if it’s done something to upset him, like spit in his morning coffee, or something. 

The ice in your glass clinks with the mixture of soda and liquor, and suddenly blue, _blue_ eyes are on you, freezing you in place. 

It’s suddenly impossible to look away. 

You set the glass of cola aside, and raise your hand in a miserable excuse for a wave. 

“Uhh...hi.”

He blinks. It reminds you of a cat. “Hey.”

You can’t believe it; you suddenly really, really miss Barret’s yelling and barking. Even his harshest speeches would have been better than the deafening silence that follows what is probably one of the most painfully awkward introductions you’ve had the misfortune of enduring. 

Clearing your throat, you try to make the atmosphere less painful.

“Barret and the others should be done in a few. Think they’re discussing your payment right about now.” 

Cloud rolls his eyes and takes a swig from his tumbler. “There’s not much to discuss. You guys owe me two thousand in total, remember?”

You mirror him. “Yeah, I remember. But you gotta realize we’re still struggling to make ends meet down here in the slums. Two thousand might take a little time, that’s all.” 

He hums, and doesn’t give you much to go on after that. You take that brief pause to completely down your drink, and rummage around the cabinets to make another. Nothing too hard, this time, you decide. Technically, you’re still working with the others--no getting hammered on duty. 

“Tifa always let you behind the bar?” He asks you while you fiddle and rummage through different glasses.

He’s still looking at you with those mako eyes when you turn to answer him, and you briefly wonder how Tifa manages to deal with him constantly. In comparison to Jessie, who wears her heart on her sleeve, Cloud doesn’t seem to wear his heart at _all_. You search those eyes for something, _anything_ to go off of, but there’s nothing to be found. 

You have to look away, it’s too familiar to you--you’ve seen those eyes before, on _another man_ \--

“Yeah. I’ve hopped back and forth a few times between waitressing jobs before I joined AVALANCHE. It was all I could land after-” 

You had to stop. You fixated yourself on pouring another drink, and didn’t notice the blonde eyebrows that narrowed in your direction. 

“...Nevermind. Anyway, Tifa lets me make my own stuff because she knows I’ve done this sort of thing before. No big deal.” 

He seems satisfied with your answer _(at least, you think he is--it might just be disinterest.)_ and polishes off the rest of his _Cosmo_ _Canyon_ before turning back to the leaderboard. He finishes looking through the list of scores, and you catch him glancing to the actual dart board itself. 

“You’re free to play, if you want. Good luck beating Wedge’s score, though.” 

He gives you a little grunt in acknowledgement and collects the darts. You sip at your drink as he gets into proper _‘dart-throwing,’_ position, as you’ve come to call it, and watch as he throws away. 

He’s a frighteningly good shot, just barely brushing Wedge’s score by a few points, and it _has_ to be an ex-SOLDIER type of thing. 

_(Well, that, and Wedge is just freakishly good at darts. You make a note to watch him next time he plays, make sure he’s not cheating.)_

He glances at the leaderboard and scoffs in annoyance, lips turning downward into what could only be described as a childish pout. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat-- _Cloud Strife is a sore loser_. You’re gonna have a ball telling Tifa about this. 

He hears you, of course, and the weight of his fuming glare is transferred to you when he whips around in your direction, blonde bangs bouncing and swaying with his jerky movements. You try and stifle your amusement with a hand over your mouth, lips pressing together, for the sake of his ego. 

Without taking his eyes off you, he reaches a hand beside him to snatch three extra darts from the board’s open panels. He shoves them in your direction, despite the fact that you’re half a room away, and in no mood to get up from your safe spot behind the bartop. 

“You think you can do better? Let’s see it then.” 

You set your drink down and shake your head. “No way, merc--I’m absolute garbage.”

The corner of his lip quirks upward. “I can tell.”

“What? How? My name isn’t even on the leaderboard.”

“That’s how I can tell.” His little smirk doesn’t falter, and he even has the audacity to _wiggle_ the damn things in his hand.

_That little shit._

_Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play things, then_ , you decided, and took all of five seconds to square up at the board and snatch those goddamn darts right out of his open palm, getting right up in his face. 

Cloud made you weirdly competitive all of the sudden; maybe the alcohol had something to do with it. 

“Best out of three--winner pays two hundred gil.” 

He didn’t back off. If anything, he got right up in your business, just to spite you. 

“Fine by me.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Goddamnit!” 

“Too bad. You wanna play another round? Think you almost hit the actual board last time.”

One round had turned into two, then four, then six, and then the two of you lost track somewhere around the eighth. It became an endless loop; you played him, lost to him, payed up the first couple rounds of losing--you were nothing if not an eco-terrorist true to your word--and then demanded him to play another game so that you could try again. 

“Don’t give me that! Not all of us are blessed with perfect _SOLDIER_ aim.”

At the start of every round, he would nudge your shoulder and demand higher stakes, and you agreed, despite knowing that he would come out on top every time. You figured--hoped, really--that, if he took enough out of your own personal wallet, he might not be so greedy with your teammates when it came to his _reactor-bombing_ paycheck.

“ _Ex-SOLDIER_ ,” He corrected sharply, “And you’re five feet away from the board.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, however, Cloud hadn’t outstretched an awaiting palm towards you in at least six rounds. 

“So what?” You squawked, in a dart-throwing position, hand at level with your eye. You moved the dart back and forth a little, trying to narrow its destination down to the bullseye of the board. A piece of you knew you weren’t going to hit it, somehow, but you would be damned if you couldn’t at least land the thing _somewhere_. 

“I’ve seen you throw your shield at a Grenadier _three times_ that distance.”

You threw the dart, with significantly more force than what was necessarily required. 

It pierced the wooden panels beside it, then clacked to the floor. Pathetically. 

You swore under your breath, and snatched another dart--your last one for this game. 

“That’s an entirely different thing!” You argued, refusing to take your eyes off the board. You knew that, if you _did_ , you’d see Cloud’s dumb, smug face, and that would only piss you off even more. And you didn’t play better when you were pissed off. 

He rolled his eyes--you weren’t looking at him, but you knew he was doing it--unfolded his arms from where they were crossed against his chest, and made his way towards you. 

“It’s all in the way you throw it,” He muttered, against your arm that held the dart. “And you’re throwing it all wrong.”

Then, he started to move, and suddenly you found it much, much more difficult to breathe. 

His hands came up to grip your arm, one on your shoulder, the other on your wrist, and begun maneuvering you into a stance you assumed was more proper for playing a game of darts. Every now and then, after a bit of adjusting, he would lean his head down to make sure your aim was true, and every time he did it, he got close, _too close_ , and his hair would brush against your ear. 

It would have been a lot more, dare you say, _romantic_ of him to do this if he wasn’t so damn rough with you. His hands weren’t gentle when he caught you moving in a way he didn’t like; they clapped down on your skin and clamped fingers around yours with a grip like a vice. If your feet were too close together, he’d knock them away with a sharp jab at your ankles--made all the more painful because of those big, zip-up boots of his.

You reasoned with yourself that the cause of his roughness was only because of his background. He was the polar opposite of Tifa, who knew what tremendous amounts of strength she was capable of, and treated everything she touched as if it were one of her precious bar glasses. 

He leaned down again; you felt his breath puff once, twice against the bare skin of your arm, heating it, and decided that was the final straw. 

“Pretty sure I got it now,” You rambled abruptly, avoiding his gaze and shrugging him off your arm as fast as possible. 

He huffed--there were probably more problems with your aim--but backed off nonetheless. 

“Throw it then. Let’s see you hit that bullseye.”

You breathed slow, took aim with the proper grip that Cloud adjusted for you, and threw the dart. 

It flew through the air with whistling speed, and-- _thunk!_

You opened your eyes, unsure of when you had closed them, and found your dart lodged in the outer ring--in the green space beside the nine. You couldn’t believe it. 

A grin overtook your face, followed by a whoop and a holler of victory that flew from your throat, and in your moment of giddiness you tossed your hands up in Cloud’s direction, fingers splayed outward for a double high-five. Your gleeful expression contrasted his stony one sharply. 

He raised a single brow at your hands, but otherwise didn’t budge. 

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging!” You cried, unable to fight the smile on your face. “What, you really gonna make me _pay_ for a high-five from you?”

His eyes rolled, and spared a glance at the entrance door. You thought, for a split second, that he might actually hate high-fives so much he would _bolt_ from them, but _then!_

His arms went slack, and he sighed in annoyance as one of his palms came up to loosely clap at yours. 

It was a pitiful show of sportsmanship, but you laughed nonetheless.

“See! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He stared blankly at you. Those eyes betrayed nothing. 

“You owe me five hundred gil.” He declared, monotonously. 

You guffawed, “Don’t tell me you _actually_ charge for high-fives.”

“I don’t. I _do_ charge for teaching people how to play darts, though.” 

_The nerve!_

“That’s not fair--I didn’t _ask_ you to help me, you know.” 

He crossed his arms. “Maybe not. Maybe I just got tired of watching you suck.” 

“Well, I won’t suck anymore! Grab the darts, I wanna play one more round.”

“Fine by me. I’ll just keep taking more money outta your pocket.”

Neither of you acknowledge the fact that AVALANCHE is still just one floor below you, taking an unusually long time to just discuss Cloud’s paycheck. 

The same way neither of you mention how Cloud had long beaten Wedge’s score while playing against you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckshot: A throw where darts land wildly all over the board. 
> 
> whoooaaa, this chapter had a lot of build up just for some banter and a game of darts, huh. sorry about that. also, you can pinpoint the exact moment in this chapter when my gayness for tifa shows up. lmao that's probably not going to go away anytime soon. 
> 
> anyway, thank you to everyone who's enjoying this so far!! seeing kudos and comments makes this kokoro go doki-doki and i hope you all know that i appreciate it all so much!


	3. Grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessie never struck you as the type to ever really take a moment too seriously. 
> 
> You figured she'd much rather gossip about Cloud Strife.

"So, what do you think of him?"

"Huh?" 

Jessie Rasberry quirked an auburn brow and smiled over the clear rim of her glass--filled to the brim with some kind of bright, fruity cocktail you couldn't put a name to--and took a brief swig after your brief pause, pinkie finger pointed skyward. 

You patiently waited for her to finish with an exaggerated but satisfied sigh, watching her place her glass daintily upon the booth table with a particular poise you had come to recognize belonged to those who once lived above the plates of Midgar. 

You've seen your fair share of people with that level of grace and affluence. A bit too many, if you were to be honest. There was a reason you had joined with AVALANCHE.

_(Not that you had any room to talk down about people above the plate--you still had trouble breaking those habits.)_

Jessie gave you a lopsided, mischievous smirk.

"The _newbie_ , of course. _Cloud Strife._ "

You sighed and leaned forward to rest your elbows on the table. You should have seen this conversation coming.

"Can any one of us go, I don't know, _five_ minutes without talking about him? _Please?_ "

Jessie huffed and threw her arms up, nearly knocking her cocktail over in the process. 

"Oh, come _on!_ If the pretty soldier-boy wasn't here for us to swoon over, we'd have absolutely nothing to talk about."

You lidded your eyes and raised your brows as high as they could go. 

"Could always talk about the _weather._ "

She barked out a laugh and took another swig. No pinkie raised this time.

" _Pleeeease._ Whenever people talk about the weather around here, everyone knows they really mean something else. Like _code._ " She leaned forward and copied your position on the table, poking your forearm with her pointer finger. " _You_ taught us that, remember?" 

You did. It had been a long while back; when she, Biggs, and Wedge were wide-eyed recruits with intertwining childhoods and an overabundance of shared trauma. 

"Yeah. I guess I did, huh." 

Jessie pulled her finger off of you--which you were grateful for--to circle the rim of her glass, brown eyes going cloudy with thoughtfulness. She had a very difficult time sitting still. 

When she spoke again, her voice was different, toned in a way you immediately knew was meant to be a poor impression of your own. 

" _When you're with AVALANCHE, whatever happens, happens--and it stays in AVALANCHE._ Pretty sure you said something like that." 

You laughed. "Some actress you are. You make me sound like Barret sometimes." 

"Hey, you said it yourself--I was an _actress_ , not an impersonator." She hummed, "And you're a professional at evading the subject." 

"No, I'm not." 

"Yeah, you are." 

Abruptly, and perhaps a bit too excitedly, she slapped her gloved palms against the surface of the table. You responded by smacking them with one of your own--you knew Tifa wouldn't like having her furniture manhandled by flirty AVALANCHE members desperate to gush about a cute boy like some kind of teenager. 

"Spill the beans already! Wedge told me about how Cloud carried you back here after you got shot." 

" _Carried_ me?" You echoed, in disbelief. "There was no carrying there, honey. He was ready to ditch me after I called him _soldier-boy_." 

Jessie waved a hand like your words were an annoying pest she could shoo away. 

"Okay, maybe not, like, _bridal_ carrying or anything, but you were still leaning on him!"

"While bleeding out, yes." 

She completely ignored your words, leaning forward to brace her elbows on the table and rest her chin in her palms. With her eyes glittering and her fingers and lips curled, she was the prime example of a lovestruck schoolgirl. 

All she was missing was a dreamy sigh. 

She sighed dreamily. "It must have been nice, all up close and personal with the boy wonder and his _big, muscly_ arms." 

"He complained the entire time." You deadpanned. 

A scathing glare was sent your way, and you happily returned it.

"Jeez, you're no fun at all." She sighed, "I should take you to see my mom sometime. She makes a mean pizza pie--I bet that'll get you to lighten up." 

You rolled your eyes. "Pizza. _Really._ "

There was silence after that. Jessie took that time to polish off the rest of her cocktail, and you simply enjoyed the comforting presence of a teammate and close friend. 

_(You decided that friends were what you truly needed, first and foremost, after all this time.)_

Suddenly, her gaze met yours head on, and all traces of liquor and jocular lightness vanished from her lips within seconds. 

"In all seriousness though...do you trust him? Cloud?" 

For a moment, your mind went blank.

_Trust?_

The word echoed off of the walls of your mind, distant and far away, as though someone had shouted it down a long, empty corridor. 

Trust sure felt that way to you, too. You had made the mistake of trusting too quickly, too much, before. 

You couldn't change what had happened before. All you could do was try to learn from it. 

You decided to answer her honestly, the very same way you always did with Tifa and Barret. 

"I don't know." You told her. "It's just...too early to know that right now. We'll just have to wait and see." 

Her blank facade cracked with pensive decisiveness, lips pursing as her brows drew in to furrow on her forehead. 

"Okay." She said, and didn't give you anything else to go on after that. 

Jessie Rasberry was still Jessie Rasberry, however, and the gravitas that permeated the air between the two of you was soon banished by the sudden reappearance of her toothy grin. A weight that you hadn't realized had formed deep in the pit of your stomach loosened and lightened, and you found it easier to look her in the eye again. 

"All suspicions aside, though, neither of us can deny the truth."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "The... _truth?_ "

"Come _oooon_ , you know," She sang, drumming blunt nails across the tabletop. 

"I really don't." 

She giggled and shifted forward, glancing around and about all shifty, like she was about to tell you some scandalous secret. 

Her hand cupped her mouth.

_"Cloud's really hot."_

_"Jessie!"_

" _Whaaat?_ I have eyes, you know! Don't act like you can't see it, too!"

You counted your blessings, and silently prayed to all the divines out there that Jessie never found out that you shared her observation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grapevine: an informal person-to-person means of circulating information or gossip.
> 
> hoooo boy, this one was dialogue heavy.
> 
> originally, the next chapter was going to be uploaded in place of this one, but i felt that it needed more buildup, hence this encounter with jessie. who is hella cute in the remake now, lemme tell u. 
> 
> also, no actual cloud appearance in this chapter, despite this being a cloud/reader story. bleh. im taking the slow burn, friends to lovers tags very seriously, and im also trying to get used to writing romance related stuff in general. so sometimes pacing might seem slow and stuff. 
> 
> bonus: 
> 
> jessie: ya know, cloud looks all serious and cool on the outside, but ill bet he's nothin like that in bed. man radiates bottom energy.
> 
> reader: what the fuck is wrong with you.


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